


"I brought the Starbucks!"

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, marius u little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius shows up two days late with Starbucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I brought the Starbucks!"

**Author's Note:**

> for the kinkmeme prompt: "Marius sleeps through the revolution. And Marius shows up two days late with Starbucks. And pizza."
> 
> I altered it so I could shove it into some sort of stupid Modern AU, wherein the "revolution" is a giant protest Les Amis had been planning. I don't know. I'm really sleep deprived. 
> 
> {sn // starbucks isn't mine don't sue me}

_“Where the fuck is Pontmercy?” cries Enjolras, whipping around as to direct the question at his mob of close-by Amis._

_Making last minute touchups on painting a sign, Combeferre looks up and shrugs, “I haven’t heard from him. You said to meet at 4:30 this morning, before dawn, correct?”_

_“Yes – and now it’s 5:30.” Enjolras grits his teeth, “That’s what I’ve been saying for the past six months. This is our biggest protest yet, and he’s in charge of bringing the megaphone. Dammit, Marius!”_

As he rolls out of bed, Marius yawns and lets warm light slip into the cracks in his fluttering eyelids; his sock-covered feet hit the wood floor, heated from the summer air, and he stretches. Fuzzy thoughts organize themselves in his mind, and he smiles upon remembering that today is _the day_.

 

He’s in such a good mood, in fact, that he decides to pick up some coffee – specifically Starbucks – for his dearest friends: those he will rebel with, and with whom he will protest for the rights of the people.

 

Megaphones in hand, Marius trots into the closest Starbucks with the aura of someone on A Mission. He’s quite excited.

 

“The name’s Pontmercy,” he begins, laying his abundant supplies upon the counter, “ _Marius_ Pontmercy. And, today, I’m going to help regain the rights of the people!” Excitement trembles in his voice like a hymn, and he can barely contain himself, teetering on his heels like a giddy schoolboy (which, who are we kidding – he _is)_.

 

The barista has a nametag that reads Éric.

 

Furthermore, Éric looks utterly unimpressed when he inquires, “Congrats. Now, what can I get for…”

 

Unimpressed Barista is cutoff midsentence by a seemingly moved Marius. “Today, my dear Éric, we make history!”

 

Éric looks momentarily uncomfortable, and Marius’ loud declaration catches the attention of glares from about the restaurant. Onlookers whisper to one another, though Marius is oblivious – Éric desperately tries to move the conversation forward, “That’s great, but Monsieur, there are customers behind you. If you’re not sure what you’d like, it’d be appreciated if you could let someone else go before you.”

 

“No,” replies Marius, “That’s alright – Citizen,” _I mean, isn’t that what Enjolras calls people?_ he thinks, not considering the fact that Marius is no Enjolras. “I know what I need,” he then starts to list complicated orders he knows his friends enjoy.

 

 _Oh, how excited they’ll be when I bring them coffee!_ Marius thinks, grinning to himself. He hands over a random payment when his new buddy, Barista Éric, reads an alarmingly high total, and thinks nothing of it.

 

“Keep the change, my good Citizen.”

 

Leaving the coffee shop a good few minutes later, Marius holds a dangerously unstable array of drink orders in one hand and the megaphone in another. He teeters down the street, smiling at everyone he sees. Many of them give him odd looks.

 

 _Perhaps they’re wondering why I’m carrying so many drinks without any sustenance to go with it,_ ponders Marius, and he physically pauses midstride to tap his chin. How would he fix this?

 

Pizza! That’s how. He’d be damned if it didn’t fix any problem: Marius turns a sharp corner to head in the direction of the nearest pizzeria. As he saunters forward, he strains himself to consider his friends’ various tastes in toppings. Does Courfeyrac like peppers? He can’t remember the crucial information.

 

Marius’ adventure into the pizzeria isn’t as lengthy as his Starbucks run, surprisingly. The man at the counter is not fond of conversation in the least, so Marius ends up shutting his yapper and waiting patiently for his pizza. In that time, though, he comes up with yet another idea.

 

He has this realization to himself aloud: “I’ll make them a dandy little ‘Happy Protest Day!’ card!”

 

This is how he ends up, twenty minutes later, in a stationary shop a few blocks north. Marius is strolling through an assortment of store aisles, stroking a nonexistent beard in thought while cradling his obscenely large pile of melting frappachinos and a pizza and a megaphone. What kind of card would be worthy of his coterie of brave friends? Would any? Probably not. He grabs a blank card with a picture of a goat on the front anyway.

 

“What a majestic goat,” he sighs, “fit for Les Amis indeed.”  

 

Marius purchases said card, scribbles ‘Happy Protest Day!’ on the inside flap, and seals it shut. Now, only now, can he finally make his way towards the center of the city, where his friends are surely gathered and waiting…

 

Which, of course, results in a very surprised Marius as he’s welcomed with an empty city square: pamphlets are scattered about, signs ripped and trampled, garbage blowing around in the hot air. He checks the address given by Enjolras again, and it’s correct. _What the hell?_

This is when Eponine’s voice comes from behind him in the form of a cackle, “ _Marius?”_

 

“What?” he replies, spinning around so quickly that coffee sloshes about and splashes to the ground, “I’m here! I’m here!”  His friend is gathering crumpled pamphlets from the ground and stuffing them in her pockets.

 

“You may be here,” Eponine laughs, “but no one else is.”

 

He drops his jaw in disbelief, “Then where are they?”

 

“They’re in jail, Marius, trying to get in contact with you.”

 

“What have they done now?” he interjects, “Is it Courfeyrac again? Good God, I brought _Starbucks_!”

 

Shaking her head, Eponine watches him with fascination. Does he really not know? She spots the ‘Happy Protest Day!’ card in his arms and her face falls: “Marius, the protest was two days ago.”

 

Silence.

 

The sound of Starbucks cups splattering to the ground pierces the air.

 

“I fucked up.”

 

“You fucked up.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I know how terrible that was, nevertheless, I MISS WRITING.


End file.
